


Bring the Sun

by Rokutagrl



Category: Digimon - All Media Types, Digimon Adventure
Genre: Alcohol, Designated Driver AU, Fluff and Humor, M/M, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-12
Updated: 2019-07-12
Packaged: 2020-06-26 19:47:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,657
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19775164
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rokutagrl/pseuds/Rokutagrl
Summary: The guy goes for more cranberry juice and Koushirou notices, "No spirits?"He laughs. "Not today." He rubs at his rich brown hair. "Took the short straw today and got saddled as the D.D.""Pardon?""Designated driver," he laughs. The guy’s eyes lock onto Koushirou's neck and he looks down, too, only just remembering the gaudy lanyard. His cheeks feel even hotter, especially as the guy reaches forward and plucks the fluffy pink strap up into the air. He rubs it for a second and quirks an eyebrow.Koushirou just wants to spend as much time with his best friend, Mimi, as he can this summer even if it means spending half of it carting her around to party after party. Falling for the hot guy who seems to keep cropping up at all said parties? Not in the plans. (But also not not in the plans).





	Bring the Sun

“Miyako invited a lot of people,” Mimi informs him part way into the ride. The flat of one of her heels clicks on the carpeted floor, and Koushirou doesn’t know if she’s excited or intimidated. “It might end up being like a mini high school reunion,” she continues. 

Koushirou meets her eyes briefly before returning back to the road. There’s nothing this far out except trees and fences. He wonders the logistics of deciding to move so far away from the city that not even street lamps will accompany them home.

Mimi touches his arm gently, and he can see in his peripherals that she’s still watching him. “You remember Jyou, right?” Her tone sounds higher now, and Koushirou decides that she must be, on some level, excited. 

“Of course,” he says. A sign says they’re passing a golf course, but Koushirou doesn’t know what the speed limit out here is and, well, one of those is more important. “I haven’t seen him since graduation.”

“Me neither!” Mimi squeals. “I didn't even know he was back in Japan! But Miyako said he RSVP’d.” She puts a hand over her heart as if she’s making a pledge and Koushirou can only quirk a half smile before looking fully at the road. “Which you know means he’ll be there. Jyou never says he’s coming and doesn’t come, right? Right!” 

“Indubitably,” Koushirou adds in, unnecessarily. He checks the GPS on his phone, mounted on the drink tray and resting back against the car’s stereo system. He’s surprised the satellites are still connecting out here, but they’ve hit under the mile mark left on their journey so Koushirou reminds Mimi to keep her eyes out for the balloon assortment Miyako assured them in her invitation would be present to greet them. Instead, Mimi shakes his arm again. 

“Oh my God, wait! What was the thing he liked again? Star Treks? Or the Star Wars?” Koushirou looks at her just as they come up on a stop sign to see her wrinkle up her nose. “It had the green person who talked all funny. What was it again? Yodels?”

Koushirou titters. He’s lucky enough there’s not a line up behind them by the time he pulls his foot off the break and continues straight on. 

“God, after this week I need a shot,” Mimi moans, “once we’re inside.”

“First order of business?”

Mimi laughs. “Indubitably.” A moment later she smacks at his arm, the same bubble of energy that had tempered returning to the surface as she points to a grouping of balloons not too far from them. “Right there, Koushirou!” 

He takes the turn as easy as he can. Miyako’s driveway is, thankfully, long and accommodating for the build up of cars having already arrived before them. Some have taken to parking up fully on the lawn, but Koushirou settles for just pulling up a little off the gravel road. Mimi’s already popping open the passenger door and shucking off her heels for the inevitable walk across the grass and dirt, and he can already hear her complaining about how unfortunate it was to get a pedicure before all this. Koushirou kills the engine and waits for a moment. 

When she looks back at him, Koushirou thinks to say, “Don’t talk about the _Star Treks_ , Mimi.” He has to train his face to stay straight when she pulls an exaggerated pout at him and continues with, “But if it does come up, just remember to make this noise.” 

Koushirou throws back his head and lets out a gargled yowl in mimic of Chewbacca. It’s a poor imitation, he knows, but he’s honestly impressed with himself that he doesn’t double over in laughter during his show. Mimi’s lips are puckered to one side, her face very clearly showing _she_ isn’t as impressed. 

“Trust me,” he pushes on, keeping his lips tightly together to keep from laughing between words, “people will find it endearing.” 

“I’m already endearing,” Mimi sniffs. 

And well, “Of course you are,” Koushriou agrees. 

“Let’s go get me that shot.” Mimi smiles at him now and pulls herself out of the car, letting the passenger door slam shut. Koushirou follows suit, making sure to lock up the pink Maserati. Out of habit, he hands Mimi back the lanyard of keys. 

Miyako is a receptive hostess from the moment she opens the door, ushering them up the main stairs after accepting their gift of the wine they’d picked up on the way over. Koushirou wonders if Jyou’s already here, and if he’s already given Miyako the lecture on buying one story homes.

“It's better for your knees!” Jyou would always tout when the subject came up. And sometimes when it didn’t. It is odd now, to feel nostalgic for it, when mostly they’d been wasting lunch hours together in the library. Koushirou wonders if Jyou will sit with him for the party, or if the years had ebbed away at his social anxieties.

Mimi, no doubt, will be the life of the party, easily inserting herself in and out of groups as she pleases. 

“Drinks are on the balcony,” he hears Miyako relay. Mimi bounces exuberantly behind her and Koushirou follows on their rear. 

Some of his shared co-workers with Miyako are already huddled together on the couch, fitting more than the recommended amount of occupants, Koushirou assumes. It makes him think of pack animals, a vain attempt to survive in an uncertain world. Koushirou just worries, because there doesn’t look to be much more furniture to sit on. He makes sure to give them a nod of acknowledgment whenever he meets one of their eyes on his way past. 

Miyako points out important information on their way, such as the downstairs bathroom and the kitchen. On the back deck Mimi rushes straight to the folding table transformed into a bar and quickly fills a shot worth of liquor into a cup, handing it off to Miyako before making another one for herself. Koushirou hurriedly fills one of the solo cups for himself with the only mixer available— the cranberry juice he'd specifically chosen at the market on more than a hunch that it’d be the only alternative to water and booze all night. It tastes tart all the way down, but Koushirou continues sipping on it anyway. 

“Congratulations,” he tells Miyako who beams back at him. Mimi whoops and the three of them share in a toast.

“It’s very lovely,” Mimi tacks on, wincing after tipping her whole shot back. “I can’t believe this back yard.”

Koushirou snorts. It is very much like Mimi, who’s backyard could fit a helicopter pad or two between the olympic sized pool with room to spare, to sound absolutely sincere.

But it is actually lovely, Koushirou has to admit. He leans against the banister and Mimi slides up to occupy the space beside him, warm and electric as her presence always is. Koushirou takes in a breath of fresh air and for a moment he can understand why Miyako would choose such an out of the way place. The yard itself is expansive, running right into a forest. A few party-goers have already made their way down to the yard, dotting the lawn with their beers in hand. A small fire is lit in one those pits Koushriou’s seen at the local hardware store, kitchen chairs set up dangerously close to the edge of it for people to sit on. 

“I might put in a pool one day,” Miyako tells them. She points at an open patch of grass and Koushirou can imagine it. "I can have a big family here," she sighs, dreamily. "One day."

“Sounds perfect,” Mimi breathes out. 

"Oh!" Miyako exclaims a minute later, hand grabbing for Mimi’s from the railing, "let me show you the closet! It's walk-in!" 

Mimi, who has _several_ , bounces behind her enthusiastically. She twirls on her heels at the door and comes bounding back towards Koushirou. "Before I forget," is all the warning he gets before she showers him in metal and pink— her gaudy key lanyard now sitting on his neck. Mimi winks at him. "Always looks so good on you!" 

Kouhsirou rolls his eyes. "Just go," he groans. Mimi giggles and does exactly that. 

He takes in a shaky breath the second the sliding door closes behind her heels. Barbeque wafts up from below, and Koushirou wonders if they'll be having hot dogs or skewers for dinner and he'll be able to stomach either option. 

He settles up against the banister to watch the yard below, the lanyard jingling whenever he moves. He doesn't mind the weight of it, the responsibility tethered quite literally to his neck. Koushirou just wishes Mimi's taste was less gaudy. He makes sure to grab the cranberry juice to sit with him on the ledge for now. _Just in case._

Koushirou spends a good portion of the early evening just watching the sky, already drenched in a relaxing rose-lavender shade, ignoring the people only stopping by for their drinks or dropping off another bottle of _something_. Koushirou keeps his ears peeled only for Jyou, or perhaps a co-worker who might pull him into their comfortable cocoon. 

It's still bright enough out, yet the flood lights pop on just below the deck. Some of the drunk people below cheer. Koushirou lets out a soft chuckle. It's enough of a distraction that he's caught quite off guard when the sliding door clicks open with a loud, "Don't get too drunk, Hikari!"

"I'll be fine," a feminine voice monotones back. 

"Okay," the male says in a way that suggests he doesn't believe it actually will be.

Koushirou keeps his eyes trained on the fire pit below, watches through several silhouettes as it pops and fizzles. He wonders if he should find a spot at the fire and pretend to be drunkenly fascinated with it so people won't assume he's completely weird. Koushirou's body temperature had always run on the colder side, anyhow, and he thinks the light jacket he'd brought along might not be enough after all.

"But if you puke on mom's shoes again, I am not covering for you." 

Or maybe Koushirou could run back home and grab the laptop he promised Mimi he wouldn't bring, then find a comfortable corner to work in.

Koushirou hears the pop of a cap as one of them pours something to drink. The girl makes a scoffing sound in her throat. There's a pause before Koushirou hears the hissing of more liquid dropping into a cup. "I'll be fine, Taichi." 

"Sure," he says, sounding still very _unsure_. "Just know I can't explain to mom why the cat's vomit smells like liquor again."

Koushirou breathes in, a vain attempt to keep from snorting out a laugh. If anything slips through, he thinks the girl's giggle is loud enough to cover it. 

"I'm going to give Takeru his drink now," she says and the door slides back closed. 

Koushiro lets out a sigh. 

"I see you’re hogging the good stuff," the same male voice says much too close and Koushirou jumps. The guy taps the jug of cranberry juice next to Koushirou. "Can I steal some from you?" 

Koushirou stares.

The guy smiles at him and lifts up his empty glass. Koushirou fills it, returning a less easy smile back. 

And that should be it, the end of their story, but the guy takes a long sip, smacks his tongue loudly and asks, "So how do you know Miyako?" After another sip he adds, "Aside from the fact that Miyako knows everyone." 

Koushirou takes a precautionary look behind him, just in case there's someone else there that this man could possibly be conversing with. The only thing behind him is an unoccupied hummingbird feeder. 

"We work together," Koushirou answers finally. "But we were also friends in high school." Sheepishly he adds, "We were in computer club together." 

He takes his own sip of juice, tipping it back. He has to refill his glass. The guy, kindly, holds Koushirou's cup when he needs two hands to hold up the carton. 

"Miyako's more of my little sister's best friend," his companion supplies when Koushirou doesn't ask. His cheeks heat up. Decorum was never his strong suit. "But you know her. She's very…" 

"Affable," Koushirou says with a nod. The guy grins back and it is a lovely smile. Koushirou looks down in the red well of liquid in his cup. 

"Right. So I guess she kind of just made herself one of my friends, too." 

The guy goes for more cranberry juice and Koushirou notices, "No spirits?" 

He laughs. "Not today." He rubs at his rich brown hair. "Took the short straw today and got saddled as the D.D."

"Pardon?"

"Designated driver," he laughs. The guy's eyes lock onto Koushirou's neck and he looks down, too, only just remembering the gaudy lanyard. His cheeks feel even hotter, especially as the guy reaches forward and plucks the fluffy pink strap up into the air. He rubs it for a second and quirks an eyebrow. 

Koushirou grabs at the part just below his fingers and jingles the keys again. This earns him a grin. "I am also the D.D. tonight."

"Right on," the guy says and clicks his cup into Koushirou's. He has enough sense to take a sip, watching the stranger before him just over the rim of his solo cup. "I was honestly getting kind of worried that it was a feather boa and I missed the dress code." 

Koushirou snorts. "I supposed I wouldn't put it past Miyako."

_"Right?"_

It is far past dusk before Koushirou realizes any time has passed between their ensuing small talk. Over his companion’s shoulder the sun has disappeared, leaving a trace of green and navy blue, surrendering a clear sky to the glow of stars that twinkle kindly in the eyes of the brunet before him. 

The guy places his cup on the railing and smiles at Koushirou. “I’ve got to hit the restroom, I’ll be back.”

He leaves Koushirou with a salute and slips back inside through the sliding door. Koushirou watches him tap someone’s shoulder, and after a few gestures the guy waves in gratitude and vanishes easily into the crowd. 

Koushirou breathes out. He knows more than anyone when people excuse themselves from conversations with him they don’t usually come back, so he deposits the cranberry juice onto the bar and follows the same path back inside. His group of coworkers have still grouped themselves together on the couch. The kitchen chairs are absent _. Outside,_ Koushirou remembers. 

He plops himself down on the carpet, out of the way of the people mingling about in the open living room. He stretches out his legs and clicks the tops of his shoes together. _No place like home._

Aside from one group, Koushirou doesn’t really know anyone else as far as he can see. He hopes Mimi comes by and finds him soon— that maybe they can leave— or Jyou will stumble upon him. Hopefully not literally. He takes out his phone to dwindle down the time until then, but it’s no use. Not even the data will load properly out here. 

Before he can pick himself up to ask Miyako for her wifi password a now familiar voice says, “There you are, buddy!” 

Koushirou blinks up at his companion from the deck, standing now in front of him with as gracious of a smile as he had the first time they spoke. He squats down beside Koushirou and plops the half empty jug of cranberry juice between them. He beams. “I think we deserve this.”

“Indubitably,” Koushirou says. 

“That’s a good word,” the guys laughs. He pours himself another drink and falls slowly onto his rump. He sheds his windbreaker and lets it sit between him and the wall, the jacket an almost offensive lime green color against the polished cream paint. 

Koushirou blinks again, not quite sure if he’s hallucinating the other's presence or not, but where their shoulders touch is warm and weighty and when the guy leans further into his space his hair tickles along Koushirou’s cheeks in a not so unpleasant way. “So which ones are yours?”

“Pardon?”

"Which kids are you babysitting?"

Koushirou scans every head littered about until he finally notices Mimi's bubble gum hair in a corner. "Over there," he gestures and notices, too, that Jyou has made it, the two of them immersed in their conversation by the far door frame. He thinks about waving for their attention, but decides better on it. 

"Oh," his companion says. He points somewhere further off to the side and mentions, "Those two are some of mine." 

Across the room Koushirou spots an attractive couple quite distracted with one another, and winces. "It's like watching the mating patterns of cannibals."

Unexpectedly, his companion laughs. It's swallowed by the start of music, something heavy and loud that pulses in Kouhsirou's veins, dizzies up his anxiety further.

"High school sweethearts," the guy informs him, leaning in a little closer, speaking a little louder. "This only happens when they're drunk, I promise." He reaches for the cranberry juice and swishes around the last of its contents. "Bet I could drench them in this before they notice anything." 

Koushirou grins. "Better not. The males of that species are said to be particularly violent when provoked."

And the guy laughs. It is belly deep, and uproarious, and Koushirou cannot stop himself from joining in. 

When they settle down he thinks to ask, "So what does one do at a soiree when sober?" 

The guy moves his mouth about, looking pensive. "Collect blackmail?" 

"Too white collar." 

"We could dance? Start a trend and become heroes of the party?" 

Koushirou frowns. He purveys the living room. There's not enough open space to even entertain the idea. The last time Koushirou had danced in public was back in elementary school, when he had been cast as one of the background dancers for the school play. Rehearsals had gone well enough, but then opening night came and he swung his partner right into a fake tree and took down half the stage, screaming kids and decorations. 

As if sensing his hesitation his companion suggests, "Or we can people watch." 

"Sounds enthralling," Koushirou comments. 

"Oh it is," the guy grins. When he leans again Koushirou catches the faint scent of his cologne—something musky and earthy— just over the stench of alcohol and new carpets. He welcomes it. His companion points across the room, to a woman with a sheared bob. Koushirou thinks they're called a-lines, distinctly remembers Mimi crying about having to get one when they were twelve after the school bully spit gum in her hair. "Russian spy." 

Koushirou squints. The girl sways on her heels, nearing five inches in additional height if he's guessing correctly, missing the beat of the rhythm completely. The look in her eyes suggests she's a little bit too gone. 

"She's Japanese," Koushirou surmises and his companion titters. 

"No, no that's what she _wants_ you to think. She was brought up by international spies to infiltrate this country."

Koushirou stares. 

"You're supposed to make stuff up, you know?" His companion sniffs. "Like mini stories." 

"Oh." Koushirou breathes in. Imagination, is also, not one of his strong suits. "So she's not from Japan. Fictionally, speaking."

"Exactly." The guy grins. 

Koushirou's eyes fall back on the inexorable height of her heels and decides, "She stores all her gadgets in those shoes. Drives, fishing wire, cameras..."

"Holy shit, dude, your brilliant!" His companion beams at him. "Miyako knows everyone in the surrounding zipcodes, so the spy was hoping she'd be able to meet a prime minister or something here. Get access to his phone or laptop or something. But now she's too drunk on straight vodka and believes her own cover story." 

Koushirou hits head on the wall when he laughs. "You are aware she's only drunk on straight vodka because we stole the only mixer." 

The guy's face lights up, mouth gaping open like he's realized something important. "You know this means we single-handedly saved Japan with friggin' cranberry juice?" He holds up his fist towards Koushirou and it takes him much longer than he'd like to admit that he's looking for Koushirou to return it. Their fists meet in a short bump and the guy finishes it off with a soft explosion noise. 

Koushirou grins and shakes his head, turning his focus back on the main floor. Another girl catches his eyes with a similarly styled bob and so be points her out. "Think she's working with the spy?" 

The brunette laughs. "Definitely not. That's one of my kids. My little sister, actually." 

"I see." Koushirou feels his cheeks heat up. "The one who puts waste in people's shoes."

His companion laughs harder at that, his own head scraping back against the wall. "You heard that?" He finally manages to ask, wiping at his eyes. 

Koushirou doesn't know if he actually cried or not, but there's a smidgen of pride beaming in his chest for making this man laugh so deeply. He can't contain his own smile. "It was hard to not eavesdrop a little. I apologize." 

"Nah, buddy, it's fine. You'll be my witness if she tries to wheedle her way out." 

The brunet points out a group of people on the far end of the living room. "How about them?" 

Koushirou recognizes the gaggle of his co-workers, having now drunkenly abandoned their homebase to awkwardly dance in a corner out of the way. One of them, Zoe, has got her signature Staying Alive move going on. 

"Aliens," Koushirou decides. 

His companion guffaws halfway through a sip of his drink. Luckily none of the liquid drips past his chin. "Aliens?" 

"Absolutely," Koushirou asserts. "They've been studying mankind for decades now, but all of their research is outdated. See her?" He points out Zoe. "Learned that from American 70's dance programs." That part didn't really need imagination. She had told him that specifically once, at the annual christmas party. The first, and the last one, Koushirou had gone to. 

The brunet smiles tightly, in a way that reads like he's holding back something mirthful so Koushirou continues, "They see dancing as a human mating ritual, just waiting to capture the perfect specimen to entrap and take back to their planet tonight." He makes sure to catch the guy's eye before adding, in as serious of a tone he can muster, "Be careful on your way tonight." 

Koushirou takes a sip of his forgotten drink, mostly a ruse to hide the redness no doubtedly evident on his cheeks. He knows this is it, the line of _too weird_ , and he crossed it all too bravely. 

But the man doesn’t leave, and instead asks, “Where have you been all my drunkless nights?” 

Koushirou swallows and almost coughs on the tartness washing down his throat suddenly. “I’m sorry?” 

“Everything you say is like gold, man. I can’t compete with that.” 

“I just read a lot of science fiction… and some dissertations here and there,” Koushirou tells him discreetly. 

“Yeah?” The guy rolls his shoulders around, careful not to jostle Koushirou’s own too much. He looks settled in when he turns his full attention towards Koushirou. “Do you watch anything?” 

Koushirou doesn’t know how long they sit there, trading favorite movies and books, coming up with fake scenarios for their fellow party-goers whenever something springs to mind. He just feels that it’s far too early when the girl his companion had pointed out before comes to collect him, leaning down just enough infront of them and tucking her auburn hair behind a single ear. 

“Yamato’s not feeling well,” she says, contritely. She smiles apologetically at Koushirou and then turns back to her friend. “Do you think you could take him home now?” 

“Geez,” the guy says, huffing exasperatedly. He bounces easily to his feet and the woman follows him up, looking grateful. The brunet makes a round motion in the air with one of his fingers and tells her, “Let’s round up the troops.”

She thanks him quickly, gives Koushirou a little wave, and hurries back, presumably, to her boyfriend. 

The guy runs his hand through his hair for a moment and lets out a small hum. When he turns back on Koushirou, his face is _beaming._ “Sorry, buddy, that’s my cue I guess. I’ll see you around?” 

Koushirou shoots him a smile. “I’m glad we got acquainted,” he says, and _means_ it, waving his companion off. He gives Koushirou a wave back, flashing a dimple-filled smile and disappearing into the crowd once more that night. 

Koushirou settles back up against the wall and breathes in. His stomach aches from far too much laughter, and quite possibly an excessive amount of cranberry juice. It feels like someone had been pinning up his lips for most of the party that his cheeks, too, ache now that his smile has subsided. 

Mimi finds him soon enough thereafter, a little wobbly on her feet, asking to go home and sleep. 

“You seemed to be getting along well with Jyou,” Koushirou mentions, remembering how they’d been huddled near each other for the majority of the party whenever he’d chance a look. Mimi laughs, but it’s a small little breath. Koushirou almost misses it over the ringing in his ears, the beat of the music still throbbing in his brain even now that they're in the comfort of Mimi's car.

Mimi leans over the divider, resting her head on his shoulder and Koushirou almost reminds her how dangerous it is to be touching the driver, but he lets the argument die on his tongue and keeps to watching the road much closer. 

“Jyou was talking about his time in America,” she tells him. Her breath this close smells sharply of liqueur and peppermint. “He’s going back, you know? To finish his studies to become a doctor. It’s a-maz-ing.” Her voice sounds sleepy, small, and Koushirou wonders if she’ll fall asleep like this, attached to his shoulder. 

“Yeah?”

“We were—” She yawns, and that, too, reeks of alcohol. It is still chilly out at night, but Koushirou cracks open the window just a tad. “We were talking about meeting up, when he moves back there.” 

Koushirou grips the steering wheel, keeps his eyes set ahead. 

“Who was,” Mimi starts. For a moment he thinks she really has fallen asleep, her sentence only half formed, before she finishes, “The guy.The one you were talking to all night?”

Koushirou checks his rearview mirror. Mimi’s eyes are closed in the reflection, but there’s a coy smile teasing on her lips. A few cars pass by them on the other side, headlights bright in Koushirou’s eyes. He has to watch the white lines to make sure he doesn’t veer off the path, mildly wracking his brain for a name. 

“I don’t know,” he finally answers. 

Mimi’s arms wrap around his forearms, hugging him tightly. She yawns again. The first sign of _real_ civilization crops up— the traffic light just before they cross into the thick of the city. Koushirou’s ready to sleep as well. 

“You were talking to him all night,” Mimi pushes. Out of habit Koushirou checks the clock. His stomach growls, having had nothing to eat. 

“I didn’t ask his name,” he cements. 

“Oh,” Mimi says, but it sounds like only the rush of wind. “That sucks.”

Koushirou swallows. “I suppose.”

"Maybe Miyako will know," she suggests.

Mimi’s already asleep when Koushirou pulls up to his own house. It takes some cajoling and tugging before she stands up on her own, legs wobbling like a baby deer up the stairs and finding his couch. Mimi doesn’t bother to change her clothes. Koushirou drapes the throw blanket over her. 

“Good night, Mimi,” Koushirou whispers and turns out the light. 

**Author's Note:**

> I've been sitting on this since about 2017 Ahahahah ha haaaa I think it was for a prelude prompt to Taishirou Week that I obviously never finished, so I cut up the pieces and I'll be adding them as I get inspo, but in theory, if I don't let it get out of my hands, this should end in about 6 chapters. We'll see. It was a oneshot, once....
> 
> In other news we've got a Taishirou Discord because?? Why not! If you're feeling like chatting with some swell folks come join us: https://discord.gg/tUBhNue


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